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He’s smaller than both of us — lean, restless, eyes giving him away before his mouth ever could.
This is something he’s imagined more than once.

We don’t rush him.
That’s the point.

He’s between us on the bed, warmth and weight on both sides, realizing how little space there is to escape — and how much he doesn’t want to.
Two strong bodies boxing him in, attention focused entirely on him.

I take the lead.
I always do.

I guide him, keep him still, make sure he understands that this isn’t chaos — it’s control.
Every reaction earns a response.
Every breath pulls him deeper into the moment.

By the time he finally relaxes into it, the fantasy has shifted from something he wanted…
to something he’s surrendering to.

He’s not overwhelmed.
He’s claimed.

When it’s over, he’s spent, quiet, and smiling in that way people do when something they’ve dreamed about finally feels real.
Exactly how we wanted him.